


The Understudy

by JokerGothNerd



Series: The Hare [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Castiel, Actor Dean, Actor Gabriel, Alternate Universe - Actors, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Hallucinations, Inside No.9, Is sad though, It'll still make sense, It's really fucking sad, Like, M/M, Macbeth - Freeform, Theater - Freeform, Theatre, Well - Freeform, You've seen/read Macbeth, i warned you, it doesn't matter, it's sad, really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokerGothNerd/pseuds/JokerGothNerd
Summary: There's a Macbeth production going on at a top-quality theatre. But little do they realise, the Understudies have their own 'Macbeth’ tale going on.





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> It's an all male production because I couldn't fit Dean and Cas in nay other way. I've nothing against women, especially being one

_This and what needful else that calls upon us._

_By the grace of grace we will perform in measure, time and place._

_So, thanks to all at once, and to each one._

_Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone._

* * *

“I'll bring that book in for you. Yeah! Arsehole,” Gabriel Milton changed his attitude the second he got through the doors of his delightful dressing room, complaining to the dresser, “That bloody speech gets longer and longer every night, yet I'm lying there with that belt buckle sticking in me and he's just droning on. I mean, I'm dead, the play's over, isn't it? Who gives a toss about Malcolm? Ow!”

He jerked violently when the dresser, Garth, pulled too hard on his boots, which he apologized for promptly.

“Sorry. I'll take them back to wardrobe to get them stretched out for you.”

“That would be good, because I did ask for that three weeks ago, didn't I?” Bastard.

“Sorry, Gabriel.”

Gabriel Milton was the star of the Shakespeare play, Macbeth, at whatever famous theatre it was being performed at. He was an absolute arsehole to the rest of the cast and crew, but had a particular sense of hatred for the poor actor who played Malcolm, one of the protagonists. It was an all male production, as it would have been when it was wrote. No one laughed at it, they were more appreciative, in fact, as nowadays people don't care as much as to what clothes you wear (or at least in this world).

Gabe was sat up in front of the dressing room mirror, now taking off the shoulder-length wig, and slowly getting out of his costume, covered in fake blood. That was going to be fun to wash out - but it wasn't his problem.

“You see? That's four minutes added on to the second half just 'cause the casting director of the Donmar's in,” he sneered tapping his watch, watching Garth run around, moving the bits of costume.

“Visitors at stage door for Mr Milton. Thank you,” a voice came from the speaker in the corner, signalling people coming in.

“Shit! What are people like? I've just done three hours of Shakespeare, now I've got to give another performance in here,” Gabe huffed, rubbing his eyes, because his job was _so hard_...

“Do you want me to get them?” Garth stopped a second, but turned to the door knowing the answer.

“Yeah, I suppose so. But after five minutes, remind me I've got something on tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“I don't know, voice-over or something. Use your imagination. Just don't want to get stuck with them,” yes, Gabriel could be hard work, but it was Garth’s job to deal with it. Actually, it may not have been.

“Hi, Garth. Hey, Gabriel!” The door opened a bit, and in walked Dean Winchester, who was the understudy for Macbeth (understudy means the backup actor). He was sweet too, unlike Gabe.

“Hi, Dean.”

“Well done for tonight. Good audience, I thought,” Dean applauded him, but to no avail.

“Were they? There was a lot of reading of programmes from what I could see. ‘Oh, look, Malcolm was in Doc Martin.’ So what?! Look up, people, this is theatre, it's happening now, in front of you!” he shouted, changing into a far more comfortable t-shirt. Much better. Just a shame he took for granted what he had.

“They seemed to really enjoy it.”

“It's Shakespeare, Dean, they're not meant to enjoy it,” Gabriel murmured, wiping the face paint off with a damp cloth, “So, how are you getting along with the lines?”

Surprisingly, there was enough room in the table for him not to have knocked anything over. Garth just have tidied it up, like he asked last week. And, even better, everything was to account for: mirror, make up, wig stand, the statue of a hare, a now empty vase for flowers. Hm. Good job.

“Good. It's really useful watching you every night. Helps it all sink in. We've actually got an understudy run on Friday, if you wanted to come.” Crap. Did he have to?

“I'd love to, but I'm pretty sure I've got a voice-over on Friday. What time is it?” unfortunately for Dean, it wouldn't have mattered what time it was, the answer would have been no, because Gabriel Milton was far too good for the understudies.

“Two o'clock.”

“Yep, that's when it is. Exactly then. Damn!”

“Well, not to worry,” Dean was expecting that  answer, but tried not to show it and changed the subject, “Who’ve you got coming round? Is it the woman from the Donmar?”

“No, they won't see me for the Donmar. Not their type of actor, apparently. No, this is my neighbours, Sam and Jess. I don't know why they've come, to be honest. I've got absolutely nothing to say to either one of the- Sam! Jess!” Gabriel yet again changed his persona, just like people think actors do. It was sad really, and Dean hoped he never ended up like that, “Lovely to see you! Thanks so much for coming.”

The issue with these two was, they didn't stop talking; they were always very cheerful; and far too generous. Not only did Gabe not like it, neither did Dean, but he put on a brave face and stuck to the wall in silence, but smiling, because it was polite.

“No, no, no, we enjoyed it, didn't we, Jess?” the tallest man, with the shiniest hair spoke up.

“Oh, yes. ‘When shall we three meet again?’” his wife, a young, blond pretty thing stood next to him, repeating the lines.

“I still don't know how you learn all those lines!” Sam laughed, grinning like an idiot.

“Oh, well, it's just my job. I probably couldn't do what you do... What do you do?” he should know, but Gabriel never, ever cared, therefore didn't listen.

“Oh, hospital porter.”

“Well, there you go, you see. So, you enjoyed it then?”

“Oh, yes! The sets and the lighting make it, don't they? They give it the atmosphere,”Jess spoke, very enthusiastically.

“Yes. Nothing to do with the boring old actors, is it?” Gabe teased, slightly moving away from the 6”4 giant making him look tiny - which be was.

“Oh, no, I'm not saying that!” she slapped him lightly on the shoulder and then dared to say, “Oh, we liked Malcolm. Oh, yes. And you'd seen him in that programme, what was it?”

“Doc Martin. Yeah, he played a fisherman in that,” her husband continued, to Gabe's hidden rage at the mention of the man he hated with a passion.

“You'd never believe he was the same person, would you?”

“No, no, he's, uh, a very clever chap,” Gabriel managed to stutter out, against all odds. Even Garth had to hold a snigger at that.

“And he has lovely diction, doesn't he? I could have listened to him for hours.”

“Yes, well, I do, every night,” he joked, and turned to the dresser, “So, Garth, is there, um?”

“Oh, sorry, yes, would you like a drink?”

“No, no, no. He forgets I'm four years on the wagon,” he smiled, but glared at Garth hoping he would remember sooner rather than later. It was true though, that he had been sober for four years, so far. Gabriel Milton wasn't exactly a happy drunk...

“Really?”

“Yes, haven't touched a drop and feel much better for it. No, I wondered if there was anything, um…” he prompted, desperately wishing Garth would get the hint. And he did.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Remember, you've got a voice-over tomorrow morning,” Garth stopped panicking now. It was okay. He wasn't getting yelled at, he was doing what he'd been asked. It was fine. For the moment.

“Oh, have I?”

“I think so. Yes. For tam-… pons,” Garth just said the first thing that he could, Gabe would kill him later for that.

“Tampons? Well, in that case-,” the actor recovered quickly enough, however, just to add to the blow-

“Actually, you said that was Friday.” Dean had been ever so quiet up until this point. And he probably knew what he was doing. Revenge is sweet.

“Did I? Can't remember now.” Shit. If this all went wrong, Gabe was do dead. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? What are people like?

“Well, we are taking you out for dinner!” Sam cheered.

“Oh, no, you're not,” he laughed, but stepped backwards in fear that he might be dragged.

“Oh, yes, we are! We booked a table at The Roadhouse. Come on, Jess, grab his coat,” Sam urged her and she grabbed it without hesitation.

“No, I don't want to go.”

“Gabriel! Your phone.”

“Seriously, Sam-” and with that, he was dragged off, leaving Dean and Garth in his dressing room.


	2. Act II

“And pity, like a naked newborn babe, striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed upon the sightless couriers of the air, shall blow the horrible deed-”

“No.”

Back in the dressing room, Dean was pacing up.and down, revising his lines, to the man sat down holding a script. That was Castiel, Dean’s boyfriend, and the guy understudying Lady Macbeth.

“Terrible deed?” that was great, he'd forgotten the words, and it felt like the end of the world. That's how important it was to him.

“No.”

“Awful?”

“No.”

“Dreadful?”

“No.”

“Evil? Nasty? Crap? Shitty?”

“No! It's horrid,” Cas stopped and corrected his boyfriend of the mistake.

“I said ‘horrid’!”

“No, you said ‘horrible’,” Castiel argued back. There was a difference? Since when? When did this happen, and why did nobody tell me?

“Oh, come on, that's close enough,” Dean whined, sitting on the table.

“Yes, close enough if you want to be an understudy all your life.” Oh. That's why… explains an awful lot. Remember that kids.

“Don't start.”

He knew this would happen. Every single, motherfucking time. Castiel was a perfectionist, who only wanted what was best for Dean, and sometimes he had a funny way of showing it. He wasn't necessarily a good person, in the sense that he could be polite, but he was quite rude sometimes and could be mistaken for a psychopath. But, Dean loved him all the same. Wouldn't ever give him up. Not for anyone. (Notice how I said any _one_ , not any _thing_?)

“Sitting in the dressing room doing Sudokus while _Gabriel_ gets all the glory,” he snapped at Dean.

“But it's the job, there's nothing I can do about that, is there?”

“Yes, there is. We're about to do a run-through in front of the director - make an impression.”

“I'm sorry, I don't do impressions,” Dean leant down, kissing his boyfriend's noise. So sweet.

“Now, come on. Shall blow the _horrid_ deed,” Cas prompted.

“The horrid deed in every eye, that tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps-”

Dean was interrupted by the noise of the door hitting the wall, and a voice, belonging to Meg, “Excuse me, what the fudge are you doing in Gabe's dressing room? That is a sackable offence.” Yeah, she didn't like Dean. At all. In case you hadn't noticed.

“Hi, Meg, we're just- Garth said it would be alright,” Dean tried to compromise; like that was going to work.

“Oh, you take your orders from the dresser now, not the company manager?!”

“We don't take orders from anyone, we're not in the SS,” plus, Castiel hates her too. Except he showed it, unlike Dean. See the pattern with the story of Macbeth yet? No? Look closer.

“Speak for yourself, sweetheart,” she turned very serious all of a sudden, but kept talking, “I'll allow it on this occasion, as it's good for you to get to know the routine should you ever need to go on for Gabriel - which you won't. Your understudy run starts in T-minus 15 minutes. We will be doing it all as is, except no blood, no swords, no fog-”

“No swords?” Like this day could get any worse.

“No. Fight director's been hospitalised,” she huffed, brushing her long dark (dyed) hair back, then proceeded to explain what had happened, “Apparently Derek Jacobi caught him in the goolies with a nunchuk. I don't remember that in the Merry Wives of Windsor, but there you go.”

“We're not using the walking sticks, are we?

“It's just an understudy, Dean, it really doesn't matter,” Meg couldn't care less what happened to the understudies in rehearsals. It didn't matter because they weren't professionals, they weren't being paid Chuck-knows-how-much. The others were a little more considerate than her though. “Are those shop-bought lattes?”

She pointed at the cup Castiel was clenching onto and sipping at - to stop him from yelling obscenities that would get him fired - then looked at Dean, who held an identical one.

“Yes. Sorry, I would have got you one-” Dean started, innocent as usual. Actually, her problem wasn't with not being asked:

“Did you sign yourself out and back in?”

Fuck, he knew he'd forgotten something, so the understudy attempted to reason with Meg, “No, I was only gone two minutes.”

“Go and do so, please. Stage door.”

“You can't be serious?” Cas nearly snorted, watching Dean walk out. It was far more interesting than deal with the company manager, anyway.

“Fire is serious, Castiel, that's why we have procedures.”

When Castiel got back to going through the script, revisiting his lines, Meg sauntered up to the mirror surrounded in light bulbs - you know, like the ones you see in films - and twisted a few, purposely leaning over the unfortunate Cas.

“Your, er, Lady Macbeth frock is being pressed. But, erm, be good if you could just pop your jeans and top off now…” Meg began, hoping to not sound as guilty as she was.

“What?! I'm not doing that.”

“Oh, well, can't blame a girl for trying,” Meg smirked sweetly.

She did this _every single time._ And it irked him, so goddamn much. She knew he was a) taken and b) gay. Luckily, Dean chose that moment to waltz back in, making Meg back off and Cas mouth a 'thank you’.

“There, I'm officially back.”

“Right, thank you, Dean. Warm-up in five and we will aim to start the run at half past. Oh, and, uh, do try and talk quickly, if you don't mind? Some of us have got to do it for real tonight.”

And then she was gone, and out of earshot as Castiel complained, “Can't fucking stand her! Why is it all company managers hate actors?”

“It’s in the job description,” Dean deadpanned flicking through his script that he'd picked up from the table.

“Wanted - sneery, wine-guzzling woman to work backstage. Must have own black sweatshirt and no sense of humour,” Castiel growled, ripping open his paycheck, on to sigh, and slump further into the chair, “God, I could do a sandwich round and get paid more.”

“Well, we don't do it for the money, do we? We do it because we love it,” Dean smiled, trying to be positive.

“We _do_ do it for the money. We're getting married in six months,” Cas pulled Dean's hand so their engagement rings touched, two silver bands, Cas’ with a blue crystal, Dean's with a green crystal.

“I know. It's expensive, isn't it? Shall we just not bother?”

“Dean!”

“I'm joking. I'm joking.”

They just sat and stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, but was interrupted when Garth strolled back in, dragging Gabriel's outfit with him, “Sorry. Just need to hang this up.”

And then an idea struck Cas. And he wondered if Gabriel would mind, and if Garth would know.

“Garth, do you know how much Gabe gets paid?”

“You can't ask that!” Dean hissed, gently slapping his boyfriend's knee.

“I don't know, he never opens his payslips. Just throws them in the bin,” Garth muttered, he felt like to himself, but he was very wrong.

“Oh, well, in that case…”

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. Castiel had got up, snatched away Gabriel's pay slip, and had already begun to open it. “Cas!”

He watched at the bits of paper fell to the floor, Cas gawked and held it up to Dean’s face, “Well, he's the lead, isn't he? I'll get there.”

“How much more do you get if you go on for him?”

“Well, not that. At least double that. He won't go off though. He's never been off, has he, Garth?” Dean quickly spoke, trying to not give Cas any ideas too soon.

“No.”

“Well, maybe you should leave the soap on the floor outside the shower - that would do it,” like I said before, Castiel is a bit psychotic. He didn't mean it, but he could be taken seriously if something were to happen. It's wouldn't surprise Dean. Not in the slightest.

“Don't be mean!”

“Don't you for once want to go on as the real thing, in front of a real audience?” he inquired, stroking over Gabriel's costume, “Ow!”

“What is it?” Dean looked up from his script.

“There's a pin in this, Garth! Shit!”

“Oh, sorry, it just needs stitching, I'll get you a plaster,” and he was off. Garth was so lovely to everyone, and they just trod all over him.

“Clumsy sod. That could have hurt someone.”

“Let's have a look. Oh, dear. By the pricking of my thumbs . . something wicked this way comes,” Dean recited, Cas joining in for the last bit. And to top it off, Dean started to suck the blood that leaked from his finger.

“Stop it, vampire! Make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose,” as Lady Macbeth’s understudy, Cas rolled the words off his tongue, when actually it was about blood in a different sense, and about making Lady Macbeth a man so she could have more power.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Macbeth company - that's the understudy company, not the actual one - can you make your way to the stage, please, for the warm-up?” the speaker read, with Meg's voice, sounding more bored than ever.

“She's only doing that to wind me up.”

“Ignore her.”

“Good luck.”

“Stop it! You don't want to tempt fate.”

But Dean stopped. All he could do was stare at the beige monstrosity, known as a carpet. It was horrible. In the middle, he could see a pool of blood, growing larger every second. “Come on, they've started already.”

When Castiel shouted him, Dean flinched, leaving the blood nowhere to be seen. Odd. Was he going mad? That's all he needed.


	3. Act III

_Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell_

* * *

“Boring! Why don't you fuck off back to Cornwall and do more Doc Martins? You hateful little prick! Honestly, I have never in my life witnessed- Is this me?” Gabriel yelled, as he was pushed into his dressing room by a very tired Garth.

“Yes.”

It was the evening performance, usually it ran smoothly. Apart from on this night. Gabriel was drunk off his skull, half his costume was lopsided, and he hadn't behaved during the play either.

“I have never in my life witnessed such a _selfish_ performance on stage, and you know the most annoying thing? It works. This tedious little fucker- Get me my juice. . . has just been offered Uncle Vanya at the Donmar Warehouse. Vanya! That's my part! I was born to be Vanya, and they gave the part to him. Fucking arseholes! Which, by the way, Garth, is how he got the job in the first place,” he calmed down a little, throwing himself onto the chair, almost tipping it over once Garth had passed him a tall cup of some green liquid that he'd been chugging half the time. He always had it with him.

“What in God's name is going on?” Meg screamed, running through the doorway.

“I don't know,” Garth caught up to her.

“I've just had to issue eight refunds because Macbeth vomited on stage and said, ‘Is this a dildo I see before me?’ she complained like, gesturing towards the mess of their Macbeth.

“He's not well.”

“He's pissed! Give me that bottle, Gabriel. Give it to me,” Meg managed to grab it after he was being a brat about it. And then she took a swig, immediately spitting it into the sink, “Oh, Jesus Christ! It's two-thirds vodka.”

She promptly emptied the gunge-like contents in the sink beside them. What was wrong with him?

“So what?” Gabe didn't understand the issue with him being drunk.

“So when Banquo came on you said, ‘Fuck me, there's a ghost!’ I thought he was on the wagon,” which only made Garth face palm himself.

“Meg, Meg, get the director down here now. I want to make some changes,” Gabe tried standing up, only to fall straight back down again.

“Oh, we will be making some changes all right. Go and get Dean,” once ordering Garth, Meg began with Gabriel. “Right, Gabriel. How many fingers have I got up?”

“Don't talk to me like that, I'm not your boyfriend,” he drunkenly wallowed.

“I'm serious.”

“Three.”

“What's your first line in act five?”

“Bring me no more reports, let them fly all! Till Birnam Wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear!” because he couldn't just give a simple answer, Gabe launched up, sweeping his arms out as though he were back on stage.

“Alright, okay. Just going to pop you in the shower, Gabe, okay?” Meg told him, calmly as she could with her temper. She shoved him towards the shower, but he didn't shut up.

“Ah, saucy. Are you coming in?”

“No, I'm not.”

“I bet you've got a nice little pair of titties under that big black top, haven't you?”

“You've got five minutes,” she yanked off his wig, marching back and as far away from that actor as she could get.

“What's going on, Meg?” Dean was out of breath when he reached the dressing room.

“Do you know the lines?”

“I think so.” He didn't sound too sure.

“Are you sure? You dried it in the understudy run last week.”

“Well, that was just nerves, there were people watching from the Lion King, didn't expect to see Pumba in full make-up,” ah yes, Dean wasn't exactly a big, strong hero. More like the cowardly lion, if you asked anyone.

“Look, I don't like doing this, but if he doesn't sober up in the next four minutes, I'm going to have to send you on to finish the show.

“Shit.”

“I need to know if you're ready, Dean. Well?

“He's ready,” Cas must have heard the news, meaning he'd joined their little meeting too, “Get the costume on, Dean, we'll do the lines. You can do this. It's what we've been waiting for.”

“I'll make that call, thank you, Castiel,” Meg stated, but as Cas tried walking in, “Stay where you are, please.” So, he was stuck in a doorway, while Meg purposely leaned over him on the door. And it was rather obvious what she was up to. “Right, Garth, get Gabe out of the shower. I'll be back in two minutes to make a decision.”

When the company manager ran out the door, Cas stopped her,  “Can I go in now?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, God, I can't do it,” Dean was panicking, racing up and down.

This couldn't be happening, could it? He didn't have the determination his boyfriend had. Dean was scared of spiders and heights, Cas was scared of nothing. Except rejection. The point is, it was Gabe's part. “It's all the fights. We weren't allowed to practise them.”

“But the other actors will help you. You'll get through on adrenaline. This is your chance. All you have to do... is take it,” Castiel grinned, being as motivational is possible. It was what was best.

But the silence was too long. They took too long to get ready. So long that Gabriel waltzed out the bathroom, in full costume.

“Right, I'm ready. Let's do this!”

“Gabe. You don't have to do this,” the Lady Macbeth understudy reasoned, not working well though, “Actors are allowed to be ill. David Suchet, he missed the last act of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with chronic diarrhoea.”

“Yes, but he still made the curtain call. Shame he was in a white suit though,” Gabriel reminisced, distracted enough for someone else to interrupt.

“If he's feeling better, then he should do it. It will make more sense for the audience,” Dean stuttered out.

“Exactly!” picking up the sword on his desk, “Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff! And damned be him that first cries ‘Hold, enough!’ Good and loyal, destroying them.”

“That was it, Dean. That was your chance.”

It was just the two of them now. Not going to lie, Dean wasn't thrilled at the thought of being alone in a room with a very pissed off Castiel. His boyfriend wasn't going to take this lightly either. Dean started to cower backwards, “Well, it's not my fault. He said he's alright.”

“He's drunk a full bottle of vodka!” straight to the screaming then.

“How do you know?”

“Look at the state of him!” Castiel was frozen in anger, “I try and help you, Dean. But you just don't want it enough.”

“I'm only the understudy. I'm there if they want me,” Dean was only digging the hole deeper now, he'd be on the other side of the world if he kept this up.

“What? Stuck in the corner of the room like a television on standby?!”

“Yes. I'm sorry, Cas, I can't I can't change who I am.” He couldn't take it anymore, Dean sprinted away, not wanting to make this any worse. It was bad enough as it was.

His boyfriend was left stood in the dressing room. He looked down to his engagement ring, pulling it off, and setting it on the table. He couldn't do this. Not anymore.

* * *

_Out, out, brief candle._

_Life's but a walking shadow._

_A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more._

_It is a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying... nothing._

* * *

“Medic to the stage, please. Medic to the stage.”

“Gabriel, Gabe, are you alright?”

“Argh!”

“Try not to move, Gabe.”

Castiel looked up to the speaker, then back to where Dean was stood. He smiled, sliding his ring back on. This could work to his advantage.


	4. Act IV

“That's fine, isn't it?”

“It's great.”

Dean was sat, in full costume and make up, for tonight's performance, currently, Garth was adjusting his crown. Dean had gone from understudy to actor rather quickly. Who knows where he'd be in a year's time.

“Do you need anything else?” Garth questioned before doing anything else.

“No, I'm alright, I think.”

“Oh, nearly forgot. I got you this,” he scooted over to his bag, and searched for a package, finally handing it to Dean. It was a good luck card and a box of chocolates.

“Oh, Garth. It's really kind. You shouldn't have.”

Garth got out the way, leaving Dean to slightly move his crown. However, as he looked into the mirror, he could see blood dripping down his face. Quicker and quicker. More and more, pouring out-

“Knock, knock.” And Dean snapped out of it. He looked back, possibly just imagining it. Weird.

Castiel was waiting at the door, smiling sweetly as his boyfriend, whom he was ever so proud of. Cas had done everything to get him here, Dean deserved this.

“Right, I'll leave you to it,” Garth excused himself before it got awkward for him being there.

“Thanks. Actually, Garth,” Dean stopped him in his tracks, “Could you get me one of those juice drinks that you used to do for Gabriel? And I can't find my boots.”

“Oh, sorry, I'll get them.” Dean had been looking for those everywhere. Mysteriously, they could only be found once he asked someone else.

“How are you doing? I feel like I haven't seen you,” Castiel was still smiling at the prospect of a successful soon-to-be husband.

“Oh, well, I've been rehearsing, haven't I? Finally got to get through the fights. With a sword this time, rather than a roll of wrapping paper.”

“I just popped down to say break a leg,” Cas scooted closer this time, they both looked at each other through the mirror.

“That's a bit near the bone under the circumstances,” he spoke in a you-should-know-that tone. Dean didn't seem to care about Gabe's accident. After all - it only got him an acting career.

“I know. How is he?” Ah yes. Gabriel. Just in case you hadn't noticed he was missing.

“Still in hospital. They're doing tests on his spine.”

“Poor Gabriel.”

“Still, that's what happens if you get pissed on the battlements,” Castiel sounded like he cared a little, at least.

“Could have been worse, but he fell on a gargoyle.”

“Meg wasn't on stage, was she?” Cas took a wrong turn and laughed, only annoying Dean.

“It's not funny, Cas,” Dean glared at him, having stopped reapplying his stage makeup.

“It's weird. Now she's gone, I quite miss her,” he sighed, reminiscing the snarky comments and yelling after her. How he missed someone to snitch about.

“I thought you hated her,” Dean huffed, still not giving a damn.

“Yeah, but still feel sorry for her. She just made the wrong call, that's all. She should have sent you on,” Castiel explained.

“You shouldn't have said she was sexually harassing you though.”

“I never said that! I don't know where that's come from,” he growled, he would never do such a thing to get a woman sacked. He may have hated Meg, but he didn't want her to lose her job.

“Well, that's why she was sacked.”

“Anyway,” Cas changed the topic, as they'd been through this a hundred times, “I've booked a table at The Roadhouse after the show. My sister's in, so we can-”

“I'd love to, but I'm already going out with the cast. Taking me to Jo Allen's. I could hardly say no, could I?” Dean excused himself. If anything, he was growing apart from Cas.

“Well, we'll come with you,” Cas tried, cheerful as possible.

“Your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“At Jo Allen's?”

“Why not?”

“It's always very awkward mixing actors and civilians,” despite the fact Dean liked Cas’ sister, Anna, she was nice, but he wanted to get away from all _that_ for a bit, “You know what they're like, they're even funny about including the understudies.”

“I'm an understudy,” the still-understudy reminded his boyfriend. Because Dean knew what is was like to be an understudy. He should still remember.

“I know you are,” Dean spoke almost apologetically, not able to look Cas in his deep blue eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Macbeth company, this is your half-hour call. 30 minutes please,” the speaker broke the silence between them, and have Dean a good way to get out of this conversation.

“Look, let me get through tonight and then we'll talk about it after, okay?” the green-eyed actor reasoned, pushing his problems away.

“You'll be fantastic,” Cas kissed his forehead.

“I won't if I don't concentrate. Sorry, Cas, I just need to get my head together.”

“Are you asking me to go?” He'd never done that before, he'd never dared.

“I am really. Yes. I need to prepare,” Dean didn't know what to do. He was sure he knew what Castiel had done. Positive, in fact. Who else would to get Dean here?

“Alright. I'll see you later then.”

“Castiel,” he stopped him his tracks, turning to stare back at Dean, who just about looked at him.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“What for?”

“This.”


	5. Act V

“Do we know who's playing the girl? Oh, God. Oh, by the way, did I tell you I've got my old dressing room back for Dick the Shit? Yeah! No, it's all been done up. Yeah, was that anything to do with me? Come on, I bet it was. Ha, alright. I'll speak to you later. Okay, bye, Jody. Sorry about that,” Dean explained to Charlie.

He was signing posters for the understudies, as he spoke on the phone with his agent. Dean Winchester was a rather famous actor now, his big breakthrough was with Macbeth, after Gabriel's accident. Now he was back in the same theatre, same dressing room in fact - which interestingly enough had been done up - doing Richard III. The performance was starting again soon, too. Walking in callipers was going to be fun.

“Not at all,” Charlie smiled, picking up the posters, “Now, do you remember the conversation we had about a meet and greet with the lovely disabled people?” Shit. He'd forgotten about that.

“That's not now, is it? Why can't they do it after the show? You know I don't like people in during the half!” Dean complained, he wasn't actually that bad to work with, he was a nice enough person.

“They won't have time after the show. It's not a problem. I'll tell them you're not available and that's just the way it is,” she was leaving, already a short speech set up, in case Dean was in this kind of mood.

“It's alright, Charlie. Send them in, but five minutes, yeah? And then tell them I've got to do something,” Dean bit his tongue, so he wouldn't snap about it. Again.

“You're a gentleman, sir. And thanks so much for signing these. The understudies will be delighted.”

Once Charlie's red locks had left the room, he sat down in front of that memorable mirror, practising his lines,  “Ahem-hem. Now is the winter- Now! Now is the winter of our discontent-”

“Made glorious summer by this sun of York. Played him in Stratford, '05. Bela Talbot was my Lady Anne. How are you, Deano?”

When Dean hadn't been watching, a person had been wheeled in, and that person, believe it or not, was Gabriel Milton (who was now paralysed from the neck down).

“Gabriel! Ha-ha! Good to see you, mate. What are you doing here?” Dean reached over, and hugged him as best he could with a wheelchair in the way.

“I've come to see you, haven't I? We get free tickets, don't you know?” Gabriel giggled a little, odd because he was happier than when he was an actor.

“Oh, so nice to see you,” Dean’s Cheshire cat grin looked as though it would split, “How long's it been?”

“It's been 19 months and 3 weeks,” not suspicious at all that Gave knew it off by heart as so precisely, “And how's things with you? I've heard nothing but praise.”

“Oh, well, I learnt it all from the master, didn't I? Look, I've even got my juice drink,” Dean spoke, holding up an identical drink to what Gabriel used to chug.

“I don't touch that stuff any more. Still, every cloud has a silver lining. You've been busy,” swapping subjects rapidly when he didn't want to remember that night, and you could hardly blame him.

“I've, well, been nonstop. Obviously we took Mackers to Broadway. And I was straight back to Ireland for Game of Thrones. But what about you? I heard you're doing talking books?”

“That's right. I'm giving Jarvis a run for his money,” Gabe rambled on, “I've just finished Everything You Need To Know About The EU. Fascinating stuff. You think you know the half of it…”

“Sounds good.”

“They've done this room up nice.”

“Yes, yes, my agent, I think. Embarrassing really,” he blushed, watching the carpet he once hallucinated seeing blood on.

“Well, my agent gave me this blanket. Small cheques,” then after a gap of silence, “How's that lovely boyfriend of yours? Have you done the decent thing yet?”

“What?”

“Pretty one. Understudied Lady M. You were engaged, weren't you?” Gabriel was thinking of Dean, right? Or was it someone else he was thinking of?

“Oh, Castiel!” so it was Dean he was thinking of, “No, no, we're not together any more. No, I don't know what he's up to these days.”

“Shame. He was a sweet lad,” Gabriel purposely stopped him there, sensing something the matter.

“Anyway, look, I don't want to chuck you out, but I've got to get _my_ callipers on, so…” Dean pardoned himself. He didn't want to talk about Cas, they hadn't exactly ended on a good note.

“Oh, yes, of course. Looking forward to it. Well, you're doing something right, anyway. Keep at it. You're having the career for both of us now,” he sounded so sad, not covering it very well with fake cheer. Gabriel missed the acting, but what could he do?

“Thanks.”

“Okay, wagon’s roll!

“All done?” Charlie skipped in, phone in hand - she'd probably been texting her girlfriend, stood in the corridor.

“Thank you very much,” someone else was with her, but Dean wasn't watching to see who it was.

“I'll get the lift for you. If you walk this way. So to speak,” the redhead grimaced at her muddle up, but pushed him through anyway.

“Garth?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“It is you,” Dean thought it was. The ex-dresser, wasn't wearing what Dean remembered him in, more informal now. It'd been years since they last saw each other.

“Surprised you remember me,” Garth nervously laughed.

“Of course I remember you. So, what, you're looking after Gabe now?”

“Yeah, I'm his full-time carer.

“Well it's lovely to see you. Hope you enjoy the show,” Dean just expected him to walk off, but no. Not for Dean Winchester. It just had to get more complicated, didn't it?

“Oh, I've already seen it.” I'm sorry, what?

“Really?”

“I've seen everything you've done since we worked together. Sometimes I come three or four times a week just to see the little changes in your performance. I always knew you'd go far. Just needed a little push,” he explained, remembering back when Dean was just an understudy.

“Sorry, what do you mean?” Dean was confused now. What was Garth on about?

“This room looks better now. More fitting for a _star_ like you. He made a real mess of it,” Garth absentmindedly spoke, touching the new wallpaper that had been installed.

“Who did?”

“Castiel, when he killed himself,” Garth rolled off his tongue like it was nothing. Dean stumbled at this: no one had told him.

“What?"

“Sorry, didn't you know? He slit his wrists in the shower,” he pointed through at the pristine white curtains, “Had the blood everywhere apparently. Right through to the floorboards.”

“Cas died?” Dean's heart was breaking worse, and worse by the second. It didn't matter that they were no longer together, but _Cas_ had _died._

“I'm surprised you didn't know. I mean, why would you?” he changed so quickly from not understanding to understanding, as he waffled on about Dean's acting career, “You've been away. I guess I was a recurring character in Game of Thrones. Which you were brilliant in, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Dean didn't sound it though. He was too busy mourning Cas’ death.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Act I beginners call. Act I beginners to the stage, please,” the speaker read out, so robotically.

“Better put that on,” Dean nodded to his callipers.

“I'll do that for you. Just like old times,” Garth set to work as Dean sat down, almost in tears “Sorry. Shouldn't have said anything. They obviously didn't want you to know. I hope it doesn't affect your performance.”

“No, it's okay,” he was lying, “It's just a bit of a shock. I think I know why he did it, actually.”

“Why?”

“Castiel was responsible for Gabriel's accident. He obviously couldn't live with the guilt,” that was Dean had assumed all along. Castiel always wanted him to do well, so presumably that's what he did about it. That was why Dean grew apart from him.

“That wasn't Cas. It was me. I spiked Gabriel's drink that day. It was pure alcohol. I took it from the wig store,” the ex-dresser briefly stared up at Dean, no apology whatsoever.

“What?” Yeah, what he said. Garth did it? Innocent, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Garth? But why?

“And I got rid of Meg for you She never would have put you on. She couldn't see what I could see. I said she cupped my ass in the Wendy House backstage. Instant dismissal,” how far did this go?! What had he done?!

“Why would you say that?” Dean stood up, trying not to lose his temper. He blamed all of it on Castiel. What the hell had Dean done?

“For you, Dean,” Garth gently smiled, not maliciously, “For your career. I've seen it happen too many times. Genuine talent not being recognised. Looking after Gabriel is the price I pay for what I did. Just as Castiel's death is the price you pay.” But… what?

“That was nothing to do with me,” he defended himself, despite blaming himself for everything now. It was done in  _ his name. _

“I know it wasn't. Your career  _ had _ to come first. You told him that. Look, Dean,” he moved his left hand so Dean could see the same ring he'd proposed to Castiel with, “I took it from Cas. I think he wanted me to have it. I'm waiting, in the wings. Like an understudy. Have a good show. I'll be watching.”

Garth just walked out, plain and simple. Leaving Dean to try and not to have a mental breakdown. Everything was shattering around him. A familiar face came back, “Knock, knock. Are you all set to ‘smile and smile and be a villain’?” Charlie was as jovial as ever, not knowing what had ever occurred. She led him to the stage, and up for his performance of Richard III.

“Yes. Sorry.”


End file.
